


Oh Captain, my Captain

by Jane_Dorocak



Series: PH hanahaki AU [4]
Category: Purple Hyacinth (Webcomic)
Genre: Flowers, Forced Kiss, Hanahaki Disease, Kym is Tristan/March shipper, Lareuns is a concerned niece, M/M, Swearing, Unrequited Love, and as per usual not so subtle symbolism, characters are OOC but that is to be expected, this time for real, wau even hanahaki gods hate on Hermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24995377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane_Dorocak/pseuds/Jane_Dorocak
Summary: When Hermann starts sprouting flowers out of love for one infiruating Chief of Police, he does the one rational thing and ignores it.When even that fails, he does the other rational thing and goes to the doctor to have the flowers removed.But he never could have guessed who he would meet in the waiting room.Or perhaps he would - but as March would say - he was always incredibly stubborn when it comes to feelings of others and himself.(As per usual, the summary is bad - sorry)
Relationships: Hermann/Oliver March (one-sided), Hermann/Tristan Sinclair (one sided), Oliver March/Tristan Sinclair
Series: PH hanahaki AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767712
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	Oh Captain, my Captain

**Author's Note:**

> The characters are not owned by me but the amazing Sophism and Ephemerys.

_Blue pill! Restart your love life now!_

Hermann glared at the poster in front of him silently. How ironic that there would be a poster like that in a place like this - the waiting room of the surgeon specializing in hanahaki flower removal. It was like someone was making fun of him.

A part of him wanted to tear that stupid poster down. A part of him wanted to run out screaming. A part of him wanted to find that good-for-nothing idiot Sincliar and beat him senseless for all the crap he had to endure right now.

He frowned even deeper at the poster. It did not help that the guy on it wore glasses and overall suspiciously reminded him of one annoying Police Chief. The very same Police Chief that was the cause of all of this.

Hughes Hermann the captain of the 11th precinct held no little amount of aversion towards Tristan Sinclair. A part of it was the jealousy over his position, a part irritation at certain decisions the man had made over his career that affected Hermann too. A part was having to deal with that unsufferable niece of his every damn day.

And that was why no one was more surprised than Hermann when one morning, the captain threw up petals all over the letter he got from the man. Well, no one even could be more surprised since the Captain quickly brushed the flowers into the trash bin before anyone could see and kept on pretending as if nothing happened.

And he did so again when the problem repeated the next day.

And the day after. And the day after that. And again. And again.

And soon enough every time that stupid google-eyed Chief came to his mind. He didn’t even have to see the man directly - he could just receive an order signed in Tristan’s name, see his face in the news's or as much as catch a brief mention of the name Tristan Sinclair in a conversation. The results were always the same. Flowers and shame. And slowly rising realization as to what this means.

Hermann might have been pig-headed, but he wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew there would be only one reason for sprouting flowers at every mention of the man. He had a crush on Tristan Sinclair. 

Or so it seemed. Though he himself found it hard to believe he would be attracted to the man in such a way - not with all the bad blood that seemed to flow bewteen them.

Alright, to be frank, Hermann didn’t entirely hate the man. Despite his jealousy and a feeling of wrongdoing, he admired Sinclair as his superior and the Chief of the Police Department. Sinclair was capable and strict, but not relentlessly ruthless. He was the very definition of a gentleman - polite, elegant, and always dressed for the occasion. But it wasn’t only that - there was a certain aura, charm in his manners and movements that made him look more leader-like than Hermann ever could. Yes, Sinclar had charisma - that’s how he got his position after all.

Part of it was his appearance or sure. As much as Hermann relented to admit it, Tristan Sinclair was a very good looking man - especially given his age and the amount of stress he had to face each day. The lack of sleep and all the burdens his job brought ot him might have marked the man’s face with permanent eye bags, but it took nothing from his statute-like grace, the brightness of his eyes or the charm of his smile. Even his voice was still as enchanting as ever - objectively speaking. After all, who would dislike such a rich earthy yet clear baritone with precise diction and soothing undertone? 

(Hermann never heard that voice in his dreams though - not like that. In his dreams, Tristan was breathless, panting under Hermann’s hands, that glorious voice no more than a whisper, the smile replaced with an expression of pure lust and desire...) 

So yes, he thought objectively speaking Tristan Sinclair was a capable leader possessing good manners and physique that Hermann might have jerked off to one time too often.

But that did not mean he liked the man, not alone was in love with him.

Unfortunately, the flowers in Hermann’s lungs were of a different persuasion.

At first, he tried to ignore them. He kept as far from Tristan as possible (which luckily no one found suspicious given his usual dislike for the man); started taking cough drops and replaced coffee with tea - something that became a trend in the precinct since it seemed March started doing so as well. But those damn flowers just wouldn’t go away. No, quite the opposite. Small buds started coming out along with the petals more and more often and one morning Hermann woke up to a sight of fully blossomed lotuses covering his bed.

That was it.

He threw the flowers into the fire and finally called his doctor.

The whole process of setting up an appointment for the surgery was a long and painful - mainly for Hermann’s pride. Even without the flowers clogging his throat it was hard to swallow his pride and admit to his doctor that yes, he did suffer from a rare disease that seemed more suitable for a lovestruck teenager than a venerated captain long past his prime. What made the matters even worse was when the doctor tried to persuade Hermann to first try out a confession.

“It would be better for your body if you first tried the non-invasive method,” the doctor had said.

“You also have to understand that a hanahaki surgery can be performed only once - if you catch it again we cannot help you.”

Hermann had only cringed at his words.

“Believe me, doctor,” he'd said, “there’s no way I’m falling in love again. Now if you could just sign the papers I'll be on my way.”

To that, the doctor could have only sighed and handed over the adequate paperwork.

And so now, Hermann found himself sitting in the waiting room of the best surgeon specializing in hanahaki removal in the state, glaring at a poster for some sort of erectile dysfunction pill, and wishing to die.

God if anyone from the precinct saw him there… No, don’t be ridiculous. _The disease was a rare thing, what bad luck would his precinct have to have more than one infected?_

The door to the ambulance opened. 

Finally. 

Hermann stood up, but then promptly froze in place. His eyes widened.

“Oliver?” he breathed out.

The patient that just came out of the ambulance looked up with a mix of confusion and shock on his face.

“Captain,” detective March said, his voice dull.

For a moment neither of them moved - both stuck like a pair of deers in headlights.

“Mister Hermann!” the nurse’s voice came from inside the ambulance, breaking the silence, “Come in!”

Hermann shivered suddenly remembering where he was.

He locked his jaw in a stern expression and without looking at March again walked into the ambulance.

***

The appointment did not take long and Hermann was out of the doctor’s office in about a quarter an hour. 

He was already leaving the hospital when he saw March sitting in on a bench beside the sidewalk sipping on shitty hospital coffee from a paper cup. The detective noticed Hermann almost immediately and waved at him in a greeting.

Hermann sighed and reluctantly made his way to the detective, hands hiding in his pockets.

“Oliver,” he greeted him flatly.

“Greeting captain,” March replied a sad smile dancing on his lips.

“I must admit I didn’t expect you of all people to be here.”

“I could say the same about you,” Hermann retorted sharply. He knew March wasn’t in a relationship but never took the detective for a man interested in love or relationship at all. 

March nodded with a small chuckle that quickly grew into a fit of cough. He brought a tissue to his mouth, but a few petals still slipped onto the ground.

Chamomile and cyclamen, Hermann noted. What a hideous combination. 

“I’m sorry,” March said when the fit subsided and looked up at Hermann, his eyes a bit teary from the coughing.

“I never meant to hide this. But there never seemed to be a good time to tell you.”

Hermann frowned.

“So you’re having surgery,” he asked, forcing his voice to stay calm and impartial. He and March have been friends for years, how could he have noticed just now?

March nodded.

“Next week. The request for the sick leave is on your desk along with my request for a transfer.”

The blood in Hermann’s veins suddenly turned into ice.

“A transfer?” Hermann frowned.

“What is this nonsense, Oliver?”

March sighed as if he expected this reaction.

“Hughes, calm down, please,” he said, calling him for the first time in a while by his first name.

“Everything is already dealt with. I’ve talked with the Captain of the 8th precinct and we worked through the paperwork. You’ll get another officer as capable and experienced as me – you just need to sign the transfer.”

“No, I mean why?” Hermann insisted.

“Just because you have this... thing doesn’t mean-”

March shook his head with a sigh.

“Think about it for a moment, Hughes,” he said, eyes fixed on the cup.

“The surgery means I’ll forget the person I’m in love with too. Completely. Do you have any idea how hard my job would be if I were to work with someone who I suddenly have forgotten everything about?”

The ice that a minute before flooded Hermann’s veins now turned into a raging fire.

“Are you kidding me, March?!” he shouted. “I’m about to lose one of my best detectives so you won’t hurt feelings of some dumb officer or maybe an archivist that doesn’t even deserve you by forgetting their damn name?!”

“You shouldn’t talk about your subordinates in this way,” March warned him, finally displaying something more than just resignation.

“And it’s not only about this being awkward. Me forgetting will only get in the way of work. It’s better for the precinct as a whole and myself as a detective that I go.”

“Cut the bullshit, March!” Hermann pursed his lips, ran a hand through his hair.

“No, we do it this way. You tell me who your… crush… is and I have them transferred instead.”

March chuckled but shook his head. 

“You cannot do that.”

“Why not? Is it some sort of moral code of yours acting up?”

“Even if it wasn’t, it’s impossible for you to transfer this particular person.”

Hermann’s frown only deepened as he struggled to keep his thought in order amidst the raging storm that set off in his head.

Yes, there would be a few people who the precinct would sorely miss if he decided to transfer them, but there was no one…

The realization slowly dawned on him, settling in his stomach like a lead balloon.

“Oliver…” his eyes widened as he looked down on his detective.

March shrugged but still made no eye contact with the captain.

“I knew you’d learn about this sooner or later. I hoped I would still have more time to brace myself, but I’m glad it’s all set and done.”

Hermann gulped.

“Dear God, Oliver,” he closed his eyes and grabbed the bridge of his nose. 

“Just how long has this been going on? And why you never said anything?”

“Well, save it to you to make it into an investigation, " March shook his head and took another sip his brows furrowing at the bitter taste.

" Just answer my question, damnit!" Hermann burst out.

March only glanced at him, surprised by the outburst, but then looked down again

"As impatient as always," he sighed and then added. 

“Do you remember when I got this scar, Hughes?” 

“Of course, I do!” Hermann said through the gritted teeth. Of course, he remembered. It happened almost twenty years ago when they were both young and relatively naïve officers. They were working on a case, tailing a big game drug dealer. They got intel on some trade going on in the docks, but when they came there…

“Naturally. How could you forget?” March asked, “ We walked into a trap back then. An ambush. Ten men against the two of us and two more officers. I remember we got separated for a brief moment. I managed to take out the two thugs attacking me but I lost my weapon. Then I turned around and I saw you lying on the ground in a puddle of blood, that crazy bastard above you… I didn’t even think about the danger I was in when I attacked that man - nor when he jabbed the knife into my jaw. The only thing that was playing in my head was that if you aren’t in my life anymore, I might as well die.”

A sip and a grimace, though this time it was hard to tell if it was due to the taste or the memory.

“But that was back then when I was young and dumb," March noted but then quickly raised his hands to silence any possible protests.

“Don’t get me wrong! I would still try to save you if it happened today. But that would be because it would be my duty as your friend and a detective, not because of some prehistoric notion that you are the centre of my universe. I have a good career, I have friends... there’s no use losing it all for a crush with no prospect. I have to move on.”

He glanced into an almost empty cup and then just splashed the rest of the coffee into the bushes.

Hermann drew a sharp breath.

“So all this time,” he not as much said as hissed.

“You could have said something, Oliver!”

Another shake of the head. So cocky and so arrogant.

_And so honest._

“I knew you didn’t love me back,” March said, his voice so calm, so in odds with the fury that raged in Hermann’s soul. “ And honestly, being by your side was enough for a while. There was no urgency to confess - well not until the flowers came. And then, – well, you were already in love with another man.”

Hermann paused. Did he know? How? Who else? _Why didn’t he say anything, bastard?_

March looked up at Hermann. 

“Of course I knew, Hughes,” he said, reading everything he needed right from his face.

“Most probably even sooner than you, yourself. It was obvious, but you – as stubborn as you always were – just failed to acknowledge it.”

Hermann gritted his teeth. First, this man confesses just as easily as if he was just talking about the weather and now he makes fun of him-

_Infuriating, arrogant prick trying to play the sacrificial lamb. All-knowing idiot giving up on life like a loser._

March stood up.

“You know-” he started but got cut off as Hermann grabbed him and pushed his lips against his - the collision by no means a gentle one. Hermann’s lips were rough and so was the kiss - rough, demanding, violent. Conquering. Hermann’s hands wrapped around March’s torso, tugging on his shirt, making the other man moan slightly. Hermann’s teeth grazed corners of March’s mouth, prying it open and the detective - still in shock - gave in. Hermann seized the opportunity, forcing his tongue inside - and with it all his feelings. Anger, betrayal, desperation - he wanted March to feel it all. he wanted them both to burn.

When they finally separated, they were both panting, their faces red with exasperation and arousal. 

Hermann’s sight fell at March's lips, swollen and slightly parted from surprise. 

“Let’s go to my place,” he growled.

March frowned and took a step back.

“What? No.”

“Why not?” Hermann shot back. “You’re forgetting me in a few days anyway! Our friendship is over - there’s nothing you can ruin now so-”

March pushed Hermann away so abruptly the other man almost fell. 

“Don’t joke with me, Hermann,” he snarled.

“I’m not a cheap whore.”

“Oliver-”

“No, it’s enough!” March adjusted his tie and grabbed his jacket from the bench.

“I told you because I wanted to be honest with you. Yes, I’m still in love with you. But I have my dignity. And I’m not so desperate as to let you play with me like with a disposable fucktoy while you think of another man.”

“For Christ's sake! Wait!” Hermann grabbed the other man by the hand, but March pulled away quickly before turning around and looking straight into Hermann’s eyes.

“You know I pity you, Hermann,” he said, his voice once again reserved. 

“I really do. I fell for a star that can be forgotten. You fell for the Sun. That’s something much harder to deal with.”

He looked Hermann right in the eyes. They were calm, resigned.

“Well, farewell, o Captain, my Captain. And good luck.”

***

The next week, detective March left the precinct for good. The other officers threw a small party for him – everyone was present aside from Hermann who got unexpectedly sick and had to be admitted to the hospital.

When he returned to work, there was a new detective – a sharp-witted blonde woman with a dry sense of humour and no tolerance for lousiness. 

March didn’t lie – she was good as the old detective himself, though far less relaxed and three times as stubborn. She and Hermann clashed often even over the smallest of details. 

Like two bulls, Sergeant Ladell would say.

As the time passed Hermann started to understand what March meant when he said he fell in love with a star and Hermann with a Sun. For March escaping his past love was easy - he just transferred to another precinct and he never had to see Hermann again. If anyone asked, he could just say they had a disagreement or that they simply fell apart.

For Hermann, on the other hand, there was no escaping. After all, he couldn’t just admit he forgot out of the blue the Chief of the APD. And so Hermann had to relearn what he knew of Tristan Sinclair. It wasn’t an easy process, nor a short one - perhaps even longer and more painful than the preparation for the surgery. It took Hermann several long weeks filled with painstakingly deducing information mid-conversation, rapid improvisation and rereading correspondence and old notes, to once again get familiar with the man he had once both loved and loathed. In the end he wasn't even sure what he had seen in the man in the first place. Was it really that worth it?

Still, the hardest thig was meeting March again.

It happened during a Police Ball about a year and a half after the incident in the hospital.

Hermann was standing in the corner of the ballroom, a glass of vine in one hand and a sour expression on his face. He wasn’t very fond of these sort of events. There was too much noise for a normal conversation and the only thing a person could do besides that and dancing was standing around looking like a grumpy asocial fool.

His eyes travelled across the room and stopped at a trio of young police officers on the other side.

He sighed for himself. Of course, Ladell, Sinclair and Hawkes - the three musketeers of the 11th precinct. 

They looked very occupied with something, constantly throwing glances at someone roughly in Hermann’s direction. Sinclair had her hands crossed over her chest, her brows furrowed in mild disagreement. Ladell, on the other hand, seemed to have the time of her life, grinning from ear to ear and constantly elbowing Hawkes, who had already given up in his efforts to stop her and just stood there in silent resignation. at one point he leaned over to Sinclair to tell her something that irritated her enough for him to earn a jab in the stomach, before she turned back to whatever she was watching, now with more sullen expression than before.

Out of some sort of police habit, Hermann stepped a bit to the side to see what made the group so disturbed.

And then saw them. Not far from here, though semi-hidden behind a pillar, stood Tristan Sinclair himself and next to him - March.

They were talking to each other so quietly he couldn’t hear, but even without words, it was quite obvious what was the source of Ladell’s amusement and Sinclair’s worried expression.

The two men stood close to each other - too close for a police officer and his superior just making a casual conversation - and there was something almost intimate about the way they leaned closer so they could hear the other person. At one point Tristan put a hand over March’s shoulder and laughed.

His voice cut deep into Hermann’s ears and the captain winced. How could he ever loved this man, he wondered.

Unfortunately, at that point, Chief Sinclair rose his head and noticed Hermann staring at them.

Oh crap, Hermann cursed under his breath, but on the surface, he put on a strained smile and walked up to them to men.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted them,

“Oh good evening, Captain Hermann!” Chief Sinclair boomed and detective March silently raised his glass and slightly bowed his head in a greeting.

“I hope you are enjoying the evening,” he added.

Not at all.

“Yes, Thank you,” Hermann said out loud, “ what about you?”

“Well, we wish we would,” Sinclair replied with a teasing smile before March could open his mouth.

“But unfortunately, my mood is soured by a certain someone who just announced this will be his last Police ball.”

Hermann frowned.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Hermann,” Sinclair said putting his hand over March’s shoulder, “this foolish detective decided to leave our ranks for good.”

He gave Hermann a conspiratory look.

“I have to implore you as his former Captain - try to persuade him to change his mind.”

Hermann gulped.

“Isn’t it a bit soon for retirement?” he asked, forcing a stoic tone.

“You always said they’d have to bury you with the file of your last case because not even death would stop you-”

Oh crap.

Hermann bit his tongue. _March doesn’t remember that, does he?_ For some reason that thought made his throat tighten.

March slightly froze at the comment, but then he only laughed.

“No, no,” he shook his head, “I don’t intend to fully retire. In fact, I was planning to open my own private agency. I already made plans with an old coworker, Timothy Riggins. We have been friends since the academy and we've been through hell and back. He was there too when I got this scar,” he noted raising his hand with the glass to his cheek.

"A good fellow."

Hermann only nodded, though his mind was buzzing like crazy. Why did March decide to leave? Had he caught hanahaki again? A small ugly part of Hermann’s heart jumped joyfully at the idea, but he quickly hushed it down. It was obvious that whatever feelings March had for Tristan (of all people) they seemed to be reciprocated. 

March's next words just supported this sentiment. 

“So true, I may be leaving, but of course that doesn’t mean my relationship with APD will cease. Professional or personal.”

With that, he turned to Tristan. 

"And it would be too hasty to say I won't attend the ball next year. Certainly not if I get invited."

The smirk was brief, only a split second, but it was still enough to invoke a painful sensation in the back of Hermann’s throat.

The Captain quickly covered his mouth, masking the fit for a polite cough.

“Well, in that case,” he said, praying his voice did not sound as strained as he thought it did, “I wish you good luck, detective March. And now if you excuse me, gentlemen.”

Without much more ado, he turned around and hastily made his way to the balcony.

Back there he finally let go of himself, leaning over the railing, the long past but not quite forgotten the taste of petals filling his mouth.

 _No this can’t be,_ his mind panicked.

The doctors told him he cannot catch hanahaki for the same person twice… Only this wasn’t for Tristan was it?

Hermann glanced at the yellow flowers scattered over the stone under his hands.

Daffodils. _March flowers_.

He wiped away the blood from his mouth and tilted his head backwards. His haggard laughter cut through the night air.

_That much for restarting his life._

_What a bunch of bullcrap._

**Author's Note:**

> Lost dialogue between the three Officers.  
> Kym beaming like a bloody X-mas tree shaking Will back and forth: Look at them Williame! Lauren's dads are bonding!  
> Will: Ladell, can you stop…  
> Kym: But they're soo hilarious! Like they were two highschoolers in love!  
> Lauren: Please, don't refer to them like that.  
> Kym: Common, Laur, what's wrong with that face? I thought you liked March?  
> Lauren *sighs*: Yes I do, but… it's just weird. Look how would you feel if your mom flirted with your former mentor?  
> Kym: Well, my dad's still alive, so that would be much more awkward… But look how adorable they are! *Hums happily and punches Will with every syllable* Tristan and March sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G!  
> Lauren: Can you not?  
> Will: Why are you using Chief's first name but March's last name? *to Lauren, patting her shoulder* I understand your feelings. But try to look at it from the bright side - at least your uncle isn't dating Hermann-  
> *Lauren punches him*  
> Will: Hey, what’s wrong with you?  
> Lauren: That's for putting that mental image into my head.  
> *turns around*  
> Alright, let's get something to drink before Kym chimes in there and starts asking about their wedding plans or something. 
> 
> Hello there.  
> A few points before you depart.  
> First of all – thanks for reading this crack-turned-soap-opera/melodrama. Kudos and comments are appreciated as always, let me know especially if you think something was off, didn't fit well.  
> Second of all – the meaning of flowers:  
> The flowers Hermann coughs up for Tristan are lotuses. They mean clarity of heart/mind - which is a pun on Tristan's last name since Sinclair means clarity. And it's also ironic because Herman's heart and mind are obviously far from clear.  
> The daffodils Hermann coughs up later are - as mentioned in the text - associated with the month March. They also mean new beginnings, because - once again - irony.  
> March coughs up two types of flowers - cyclamens, which mean deep love, and chamomile. The chamomiles are a pun of sorts again. In Czech, the word for chamomile is “heřmánek” which, if you omit the diacritics and squint really hard, looks kinda like Hermann. It’s dumb I know. But I ain’t changin’ it.  
> Thirdly – I noticed a bit of a pattern - in my hanahaki AUs it's always subordinates catching feeling for their superiors - well at least they're the first (Kieran is technically Lauren's subordinate, Kym is ranked lower than Will and the wierd romantic triagle in this one also follows this rule - at least in the first part). This was not an intetion - it just came out like that somehow.  
> And fourthly – if you haven’t read PH yet and you’re here just because you were randomly browsing the site, [please, read it here ](https://www.webtoons.com/en/mystery/purple-hyacinth/list?title_no=1621&page=1)  
> And if you have read it but ~~you still feel a bit too sane~~ you want to talk with someone abt it, here’s [discord ](https://discord.com/invite/SbcUwZ3)


End file.
